The Best of Food
by germankitty aka Dagmar Buse
Summary: Just because Draco's gourmet preserves stall ended up next to Harry's artisan bread stall at the Hogsmeade Food Fayre did NOT mean he was nibbling bread directly from Potter's fingers or letting him lick jam from a spoon. As if! Whoever claimed they'd seen such a thing just had to be delusional, right? Right! At least that's Draco's story and he's sticking to it.


**The Best of Food**

 **A/N:**

All things Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling and associates; I only play with the toys in this wonderful sandbox and promise to return them once I'm done.

Written for the 2018 Harry/Draco Food Fair, to a prompt by Evening12. All hail my long-suffering Beta _extraordinaire_ , Candamira. You're the best!

See the End Notes for translations of spells I've made up as well as a few credits. And as always, please pass by the feedback box on your way out?

 **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**

 _The Quangle Wangle said_

 _To himself on the Crumpetty Tree,_

 _-_ _"Jam; and jelly; and bread;_

 _"Are the best of food for me!_

 _(from "The Quangle Wangle's Hat", Edward Lear, 1812-1888)_

 _ **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**_

Draco watched with quiet satisfaction as the house-elves packed his preserves into large wooden crates. He'd really outdone himself this year; not only had he made the usual assortment of berry jams, lemon curd, and marmalade, but his experiments with wine jelly, spices and various spirits had turned out excellently. Even if he said so himself.

He'd decided to name his products _Mere Preserves_ – an understatement if there ever was one; after all, he felt no need to be blatant about who'd made them and scare away the haters. The people who mattered knew the name behind the brand, anyway.

Pansy had labelled the jars in her best handwriting, with the type of jam and date of production. She'd also tied a piece of ribbon around each lid. Everything looked – and was ‒ quite tasteful, in all senses of the word.

With a satisfied smile, Draco waved his wand to close the crates' lids; he'd have Berry and Bramble transport them to Hogsmeade on Friday morning.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Draco?"

Narcissa had quietly entered the kitchen, stopping in the doorway and watching the proceedings with a concerned look in her eyes.

He surreptitiously rolled his eyes; they'd had this discussion more than once. "Quite sure, Mother."

One of Narcissa's hands clenched around a fold of her skirt. "I just thought … after what happened last year, you wouldn't care to put yourself through this again."

Draco's face hardened. "I'm done hiding, Mother. We've complied with every sanction the Ministry put on us – reparations, house arrest, restrictions on our magic. Now that we're free once more to live our lives, I'm going to do exactly that – _live._ And what better way to demonstrate that we're ready to face the public again than to openly participate in a charitable event? What's more, one that benefits causes I happen to believe in, too?"

"I'm not saying that the cause isn't worthy, Draco," his mother murmured. "If I didn't fear people would turn against it, I'd very much like to assist with your Aunt's project. And I understand that you want to honour Severus' memory. But after what happened in Diagon Alley last spring … I don't want to see you hurt."

He went over and draped an arm around Narcissa's shoulders, leading her gently from the kitchen into the Manor's parlour. "Hogsmeade isn't Diagon," he murmured. "The atmosphere is different. You know that those hoodlums were caught and fined. I'm confident that nothing like that attack will happen – not with Potter and his cronies there, anyway."

Her eyes widened in surprise even as she let him guide her onto a velvet settee close to the fireplace, where a tea tray was waiting for them. "Oh – is Harry participating, too?"

"I wouldn't know," Draco replied. "But I'm sure he'll be around, at least." He was fighting to keep his expression neutral. It wouldn't do to let on that he was jealous of his mother's astonishingly easy relationship with his schoolyard rival. He assumed that it was built on Potter's defence of her – and Draco himself – at the post-war trials, but couldn't shake a suspicion that there was more to it than that – and neither one of them let on _what_. Not that the enmity between him and Potter had survived the War; whenever they ran into each other, they were respectful and civil. Which was far more than they'd ever managed at Hogwarts, he reminded himself.

It didn't stop Draco from wanting more, however.

Two years of reflection during his house arrest had brought him to the realisation that he couldn't picture his life without the messy-haired, speccy git in it in some way or another. Actually, Draco knew _exactly_ in what way he wanted Harry. He stifled a sigh, telling himself not to be greedy. He was a Slytherin; Slytherins knew that some dreams rarely held up under the light of day and were better left to dark lonely nights. The best he could realistically hope for was that they might eventually become friends.

It would have to be enough.

Before his silence became obvious Draco continued, more lightly than he truly felt. "In any case, it'll be good to see and spend time with my friends again. Blaise is donating a selection of Tuscan wines, so we've decided to set up next to each other if possible. After all, both our contributions are meant to be carried home rather than for instant consumption, which is why Pansy, Millicent and Theo promised to help both of us with packing and handing out. We'll be fine."

"I hope so for your sake, darling," Narcissa replied, mustering a smile. "But I trust you won't mind if I worry just a bit regardless?"

Draco smiled back and winked. "You're my mum; isn't worrying part of your job description?"

She gave him an arch look. "I'm a Black and a Malfoy," she sniffed. "We do not have 'jobs'!"

He laughed, feeling inexplicably cheered by her familiar attitude. They'd survived months of Voldemort at the Manor; a mere three days of the Hogsmeade Food Fayre should be a piece of cake. "Of course you don't. Tea?"

 **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**

"I'm telling you, sixty-three stalls are too much," Ambrosius Flume, proprietor of Honeydukes, told Zacharias Smith and Cormac McLaggen as the Fayre Committee met for the last time before the official opening. "It was already too crowded last year with fifty-two."

Justine Pippin of Pippin's Potions nodded. "Yes – people were just shoving each other from one end to the other, grabbing stuff on the way. It was a worse crush than Diagon Alley an hour before closing time on August 31!"

Dominic Maestro chimed in as well. "You must understand, we – the regular merchants along the High Street – don't want to lose potential customers if folks can't even see properly what's all there."

McLaggen was visibly trying to be patient. "The Fayre is about charity, not you hawking your wares," he huffed. Inwardly, he was rolling his eyes. _Who buys musical instruments or household potions while visiting a Food Fair?_

"We know, young man," Mortimer Scrivenshaft replied. "However, I'm not the only one who's profited from increased business due to the Fayre. Which we _need_ – or do you think us locals can exist only on the Hogwarts students? Why, last year I sold more of my wares on those three days than during all of the winter term!"

Smith shook his head. "I can see your point, gentlebeings, but what do you suggest we do? Forbid people to do their part for charity? I can assure you: in that case, the Fayre will be dead within the next couple of years."

"Well, we don't want _that_ to happen," Madam Puddifoot said, glaring at her fellow merchants. As one of the three concessioned beverage vendors, _she_ certainly didn't want to lose all those extra customers. "Nevertheless, Ambrosius is right, the number of stalls won't fit the High Street."

"Look, all we're asking is to make things less crowded," Mrs Flume stated, crossing her arms. "Can't you just move a few stalls elsewhere?"

Smith and McLaggen shared a look. "I suppose we could." Smith frowned, glancing over the village street map. "There are a few side streets which may suit … only, I doubt anyone is going to volunteer for fear that their donations will be overlooked."

Pierce Dervish studied his nails. "Surely there are those who might be … well … less popular than others?"

McLaggen's eyebrows rose as the man's meaning registered. "I see," he murmured, staring at Smith while aiming a warning kick at his cohort's ankle under the table. "Don't we, Zach?"

Smith caught on and swallowed whatever he might have wanted to say to the unsubtle hint. "Um, quite," he replied slowly. "Hmm. There'll obviously be size considerations; we can hardly put Mrs Weasley's stall into a side street, can we? Not that we ever would," he tacked on hastily before anyone protested. "But if we … um … made up a list of which stalls are small enough to be easily moved … and then draw lots, say? To determine who relocates and who gets to stay?"

Dervish blinked oh-so-innocently. "Splendid idea. That would be quite fair, wouldn't it?"

McLaggen leaned back, hiding a smirk. "Oh yes. Just leave it to us."

 **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**

"Well, this sucks." Pansy summed up what everyone was thinking after inspecting their assigned location.

"Majorly," Blaise concurred glumly, surveying the alley just off Hogsmeade High Street. The residential houses were narrow and appeared rather run-down; there also were few other commercial places near the Hogs' Head Inn. "How in Merlin's name are we supposed to get people from the High Street to here since we're not allowed to actively solicit someone except by calling out to passers-by? We can't even count on customers who'd frequent the regular stores."

"Yeah," Theo grumbled. "Who's going to buy seeds or cauldrons during a Fair weekend, anyway? Nobody, that's who." He frowned, letting his eyes sweep over the rather grimy exterior of the pub. Aberforth Dumbledore and his establishment hadn't changed, no matter that both were being fêted as having been central to the efforts of Dumbledore's Army during the War. "It'll be way too easy to ignore your stalls completely."

"That'd be different how from last year?" Millicent sniped, grimacing as a goat emerged from behind the inn and ambled past them, leaving a trail of steaming, stinking droppings behind. "Eww. You think that beast is trying to send us a message?"

Blaise shrugged. "You mean a clearer one than the look on Zach Smith's face when he assigned us this address?"

"You think this was deliberate?"

Millie sneered at Pansy's question. "What do _you_ think? Drawing lots, my arse. They're certainly not going to kick Mama Weasley's soup kitchen off the High Street!"

"She's making Lancashire Hotpot and Toad in the Hole this year, not soup," Theo mumbled. "And she's not even _from_ Lancashire!" His voice rang with a Northerner's injured pride.

Pansy gave him an amused glance. "Sounds more like something Longbottom might do."

"Merlin, I hope not." Draco shuddered. "Considering how abysmal he was in Potions, I certainly wouldn't trust his cooking!"

"Well, she _has_ brought in the most donations last year and always was in the top five fundraisers before," Blaise said pragmatically once they'd stopped sniggering at the idea of 'Snake-Slayer' Longbottom stirring a soup cauldron. "Her food may be a bit, well, rustic, but it _is_ rather good."

"I guess," Pansy conceded. "Still sucks being stuck so far out of the way, though."

"Yes, it does – and there's nothing we can do about it at this late date without kicking up a fuss that won't do us any favours." Draco patted her arm. "Which is why we're going to make this into the best out-of-the-way location we can."

"Right. We're Slytherins; what do we need others for, anyway? Let's do this!"

 **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**

An hour later, they had set up Draco and Blaise's stalls only a few yards from and opposite to the Hog's Head Inn. The design was the same for every Food Fayre participant, varying only in size according to individual requirements – plain wooden structures with shelves in the back and striped canvas awnings on top.

"These things need sprucing up," Pansy decided after a critical look. "I'm not spending three whole days around something looking that tacky."

"Easily fixed," Draco said and drew his wand. Pausing briefly to envision what he wanted, he twirled the length of Hawthorn in a complicated pattern. _"Muto Pinus in Iuglantem"_ Transfigured the rough and flimsy pinewood into much sturdier, smooth walnut poles and _"Expolio Ligna"_ polished the surfaces.

"Better," Pansy commented, giving her own wand a few quick waves. _"Muto Pigmenta Duas ad Unam. Adiungo Fimbriam Argentum!"_ The four-inch stripes changed into a solid, deep emerald green and the front flap acquired a fringed silver border. As a finishing touch, she wrote _Mere Preserves_ and _Vini della Toscana_ in flowing script above the fringe. "Now that's more like it," she said with a smug smile.

"Showoffs," Blaise muttered under his breath.

"You're just jealous that we both made Os in Transfiguration and Charms and you didn't." Draco smirked, tucking his wand back into his sleeve.

"So? I beat you in Magical Theory!"

"Merlin's pants, what are you, twelve?" Theo groaned. "The N.E.W.T.s were seven years ago! Let it rest already!"

"Excellent advice," Millicent said firmly. "I'll bring tablecloths tomorrow to put on the countertops; it'll look clean and neat," she added. "What else do we need?"

The five looked at each other. "Um, nothing?" Pansy ventured after a few moments. "Since it's all bottles and lidded glass jars …"

Millie snorted. "How about some spoons or glassware, to let people actually taste what they're donating their Galleons for? Or do you plan to make them just stick their fingers into Draco's preserves or chug Blaise's wines directly from the bottle?"

Theo pulled a face. "That's gross."

Blaise snapped his fingers. "Maybe a large tub or something, to wash stuff with. _Aguamenti_ and Drying Charms will work well enough and we can always cast _Scourgify_ or _Tergeo_ when it's too busy."

"If, you mean," Pansy sighed. "Still, it's something the three of us can do when you are busy hawking your things. Put what we've practiced in Professor Snape's detentions to good use."

The five former Slytherins shared a reminiscent smile.

"Well, make a list," Millie ordered brusquely at last. "All of you. We can hardly pop back home for every little thing if we've forgotten something and discover we need it after all. Oh, and I'll also speak to Mr Dumbledore about Floo and bathroom access."

"Good point," Draco said, frowning slightly. _Why didn't I think of that myself?_ Then again, that's what they had Millicent for; somebody had to remember all those pesky details.

"Right. See you on Friday morning, then, to set everything up properly. Remember, eight o'clock sharp!" With a loud _crack!_ , Millicent Disapparated. Somewhat bemusedly, the others did the same.

The last to leave was Draco. He took a couple of minutes to survey the setup. The dark, gleaming wood and the green canvas tops of the Transfigured stalls looked exactly how he wanted. In fact, he was reminded just a bit of the furnishings in the Slytherin Common Room, minus the fireplace and the windows looking into the depths of the Black Lake. He permitted himself a nostalgic sigh, then tried to picture the final display. The rows of bottles Blaise had procured from his family's vineyards in Italy – a variety of sweet dessert wines, classic Chianti red, white Vermentino and sparkling _Asti Spumante_ – would look very good against the backdrop.

However, in Draco's not exactly unbiased opinion, they would pale in comparison to the rows of his gleaming glass jars with their silver tops, shiny satin bows and pretty labels, filled with sweet delights in all shades of red, gold and purple.

His stall would look inviting, enticing, elegant. Classy; worthy of a Malfoy even if his name wasn't on anything. Yet. _Mere Preserves_ were meant to be the crowning glory of the Food Fayre, no matter that he'd been relegated to this all but hidden spot.

Who needed crowds of people, anyway?

 **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**

"Whoa. Someone's getting ambitious," Harry remarked as he and Hermione came across an area where a very long counter with seating for a good two dozen people in front of it was roped off.

Hermione kept her expression determinedly neutral. "It's 'Molly's Cauldron'," she said. "She decided to, uh, expand a little this year."

 _"A little?"_ Harry exclaimed. "Hermione, this is almost a restaurant!"

"I know, and Madam Rosmerta isn't too happy about it, either," Hermione murmured. "She was fine as long as Molly was making fudge, scones, and biscuits. But you know how proud Molly is of her cooking; when her Cornish pasties and mincemeat pies made her Biggest Fundraiser last year, she's decided to go for proper hot meals. Lancashire Hotpot and Toad in the Hole, Ron said."

"Yum. That's my dinner tomorrow night sorted, then," Harry pumped his fist. "I'll tell her to keep me a portion of each."

"Aren't you sharing space with her?" she wondered. "I thought you had an arrangement …"

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "No, not this time. You know what happened last year."

Hermione winced. Seven years after defeating Voldemort, Harry was still prone to getting mobbed whenever he showed himself in public. And yet, he persevered; she was so very proud of him for that.

"I'll miss your baking," was all she said, though. "Your cottage loaf would go great with Molly's Hotpot. Or maybe the ciabatta," she sighed. "That's always so good …"

He gave her a sideways look. "Uh … actually, I'm going to set up my own stall this year," he admitted, blushing faintly. "You all seem to like my homemade bread so much, I thought I'd see how it goes over with others."

Hermione perked up. "Really? That's great!" Then she frowned. "But how can you bake enough bread to last a day, much less three? And keep it fresh?"

Harry grinned and winked. "Are you a witch or not?" he asked, quoting Ron's words from years past. "There's this thing called a Preservation Charm, you know."

Hermione grimaced at the reminder of her youthful panic, then laughed and whapped his shoulder. "Shut it, you!" His grin just widened, which she chose to ignore. "No, seriously, Harry. I may not be much of a baker myself, but I _can_ read a recipe and know that there's more to the process than just sticking a pan or two in the oven for an hour. Doesn't the dough need time to rise or something?"

"All taken care of," he assured her. "I'm having help."

"Harry, Kreacher is too old to do nothing but bake for three days! You shouldn't overwork him like this!"

"Don't worry. All Kreacher will do is help with transportation."

Hermione bristled. "Don't tell me you've commandeered elves from Hogwarts!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No. But I did hire Mrs Figg and some of her friends."

She blinked. The name sounded familiar, but ... "Who's that?"

"The neighbour who used to babysit me on Privet Drive," he explained. "They're all Squibs who are quite happy to earn a few Galleons or pounds on the side. I'll just prepare the various doughs, have Kreacher pop them to the ladies' homes to bake and then he'll collect the finished loaves to bring them here."

"Oh." Try as she might, Hermione was unable to find fault with the solution Harry had devised. "That's okay then, I suppose," she murmured reluctantly.

"So glad you approve," Harry snarked. He loved Hermione, he really did, but she still hadn't lost the habit of jumping to conclusions when one of her pet causes was involved. It was damned irritating, too – she really should know him better than that by now.

The silence that followed was definitely awkward and lasted until they reached the last of the stalls. Hermione eventually cleared her throat.

"So, um, where's your assigned spot?"

Harry shrugged, appreciating the change of subject. "Don't have one. I refused to advertise my participation because of the brouhaha last year, so the Organizing Committee just told me to pick any location I want."

That's why they were doing this walkabout, she realized.

"Guess they're thinking that once word gets around, people are going to find me anyhow." His expression darkened with a bit of distaste. "Which they probably will. Besides, it's not as if Molly needs the extra attention, is it?"

Hermione's lips twitched. "Cynical much?"

"Can you blame me?" The two old friends exchanged a speaking glance. Unfortunately, it was a valid fear on Harry's part. Hermione, Ron, Neville, everybody really who helped win the War had had to contend with the notoriety that followed once their roles became known, but none as much as Harry. He'd never been comfortable about the whole 'Boy-Who-Lived' thing to begin with, and being hailed as 'The Saviour' – not to mention other, mostly over-hyphenated epithets coined by Rita Skeeter and her ilk – had made things even worse. However, it was a fact of Harry's new, post-war life that he could more or less get away with murder if he were so inclined. Thankfully for all concerned, he was too decent a person to take advantage of any of it.

"And? Have you decided on one yet?" Hermione asked.

Harry grimaced as he started to retrace his steps back to the village centre on the opposite side of the High Street. "Not really. The most attractive places have all been chosen … and let's face it, I don't need that kind of exposure. Besides, it'd be unfair to kick anyone out just because I'm coming in late."

 _Which is probably the main reason why you left it until the last minute,_ Hermione thought fondly. She loved Harry for his consideration even as it exasperated her. No matter what he believed, without him Voldemort might not have been defeated. He'd earned the accolades.

"Still, you need to pick _some_ place," she admonished gently. "There's less than a day left until the official opening."

"I know." Grumbling, Harry let his eyes sweep around. He had some vague idea of setting up 'The Bread Basket' near a stall that maybe wasn't so popular so that they could benefit from the crowds he suspected would flock to his, but how could he know which one might suit? To him, all offerings sounded great, he knew that everyone was doing their best and that in the end, only the overall end result mattered, not who raised the most money.

 **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**

Harry barely spared a glance at the collection of magical gizmos in the window as they walked past Dervish and Banges' shop towards the intersection with the alley which housed the Hog's Head Inn. "Hey, it's getting kind of chilly; what do you think of helping me decide over a hot Butterbeer?" he suggested.

Hermione smiled. "Sounds great. And it'll be good to see Aberforth again." She teasingly arched a brow. "Unless you want to double back and visit Madam Puddifoot's?"

"Hermione!"

She laughed at his horrified glare and slipped her arm through his as they turned left. "You're too easy."

They stopped short, though, when they almost immediately ran into a group of their former year-mates milling about.

"Hey, guys," Harry greeted them. "What're you doing here?"

"What does it look like, Harry?" Parvati sighed, brushing a strand of dark hair out of her face. He noticed with approval that her wand never wavered while she was Levitating three large covered cauldrons with taps near the bottom. Padma deftly plucked one after the other out of the air to place them on tripod stands with burners underneath. "We're setting up our stalls."

"Well, I can see that, but why here?"

"Too many stalls and not enough room up front," Justin muttered, trying to pull the canvas roof over another stall. Next to him, Seamus was busy installing shelves at the back of a third. "Somebody had to move out of the way."

Hermione was already lending a hand – or rather, her wand, to help where needed. "Obviously; it's going to be another dreadful crush on the High Street from what Harry and I have seen already, but why you?" she asked.

"No reason given," Padma curtly replied for all of them.

"Not quite true; Smith said the Organizing Committee had made the decision and that they drew lots," Seamus said, pausing to wipe sweat off his face. "Which is okay as far as it goes, I guess, but …"

"McLaggen just told us to set up here and that it wasn't up to discussion," Justin added.

"Although honestly, we find it somewhat … dubious … that the lots fell in a way that out of all volunteers, the ones literally pushed to the side are a Muggle-born, a Half-blood Irishman—" Parvati muttered.

"—and brown-skinned Pure-bloods," Hermione hissed, instantly enraged on their behalf.

"Exactly."

"Don't forget Slytherins," Justin snorted, gesturing towards two more stalls with deep green, silver-fringed awnings already set up on either side of a closed gate between houses. "Odds are, those belong to Malfoy and Zabini; I saw their names on the participant roster."

"That's outrageous!" Hermione was seething, and Harry didn't blame her. "The Food Fayre was created to benefit those who helped rebuild our world after we fought a bloody _war_ to get rid of that kind of utter nonsense, and now this happens?!"

"I don't disagree," Padma said, "but as we can't _prove_ anything, what can we do?"

"Yeah. I want to help any way I can; I'm not going to let petty stuff like this stop me from doing so. Even if it'll be less than I would like because of this crap." Seamus' lilting accent was stronger than usual and lent extra poignancy to the conviction ringing in his voice.

"Well ... does it really matter whether the lots actually fell out this way, whether the drawing was manipulated or if it really was some idiot trying to pull an ugly stunt?" Harry asked, a slow smile spreading over his face. "Why get mad if you can get even instead?"

Parvati had never been close friends with Harry, but after having shared a Common Room with him for years, not to mention having trained with the DA, she was quite familiar with the determined gleam in the green eyes. Anyone who had ever flown against him on the Quidditch pitch would've recognized the expression as one of pure triumph, just before he caught the Golden Snitch right from under their noses. She instinctively straightened her back. So did Seamus. "I'd like that. But how?"

Harry grinned and met Hermione's eyes. She nodded, starting to smile as well.

"Got room for one more?"

 **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**

The weather was typical for late October in Scotland, grey and foggy, when Draco and Blaise met up at the public Floo at the Hogsmeade Post Office on Friday morning to collect their permits first. Both had house-elves in their wake who were carefully floating crates filled with jam jars and wine bottles. At least it wasn't raining, but that was little consolation with the chill permeating the early-morning air. There were a few friendly waves and hellos from other stall owners as they walked down the High Street, making it easier to ignore the few dark looks and disparaging comments that were also in evidence.

"All things considered, I'm rather glad that we won't be right next to one of those arses even if it meant a more popular spot," Draco said as they passed Zonko's across the street. "Can you imagine having to deal with that kind of attitude for three whole days with no way to escape?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Blaise replied. "And that's despite me having run into a lot less of that shite than you." He fluttered his eyelashes at his best friend. "At least we'll be in virtual exile together. We can console each other."

Draco snorted, long used to the incessant flirting. "Dream on, Zabini."

Blaise stopped, pressed one hand to his chest and gasped theatrically. "Draco, you wound me!"

"No more than every time you've come on to me since fourth year and I said no," Draco retorted. "I've told you, I'm not going to mess up our friendship by letting you into my pants."

"But they're such _nice_ pants," Blaise pouted, then produced a friendly leer. "As is what's in them. Are you _sure_ you won't need consoling tonight?"

"Absolutely," Draco said firmly. "And for the record, I don't want someone else to do anything of the sort, either. Including Potter. Because despite your totally erroneous opinion, I'm _not_ pining for him. Never have, never will."

"Riiiight," Blaise drawled, amused. "You keep telling yourself that."

"Shut up and let's stock our stalls." Determinedly fighting his blush, Draco turned into their side street, only to stop in his tracks at the sight greeting him.

"Merlin's balls, Draco! Warn a bloke, will you?" Blaise exclaimed as he barely avoided crashing into Draco's back. Thankfully, their house-elves had equally good reflexes and managed to steady the crates with just a few clinks and jangles as the bottles and jars jostled against each other. "What's the matter?"

"There are other people here," Draco murmured, staring at the additional stalls now standing beside his and Blaise's.

"Huh? Who?"

"Stop impersonating an owl," Draco said absently, walking closer. The stalls were the standard model, but each had been modified similarly to theirs. Timber had been uniformly strengthened; one stall now showed knotted pine, with the canvas roof's stripes changed to green and crimson edged with gold. The second had been Transfigured into what looked like teak, its back and counter draped with a paisley fabric in muted patterns of blue and bronze. A curious goat peeked out between them and bleated. The third stall's structure had been varnished black and the awning now sported stripes in shades of warm yellow.

The overall effect wasn't _bad_ , Draco had to admit, even though it wasn't the dignified, classy setup he had envisioned at all. Somehow, the wildly different colours and styles managed to complement rather than clash with each other. If he had to describe how the little enclave looked, it would be ... welcoming. Comfortable. Homely.

 _A Malfoy doesn't do homely!_

"Seems we're having company after all," Blaise mused, derailing Draco's train of thoughts as he stopped next to him. "If I had to guess, I'd say we're being joined by the Ravenclaw Patil, possibly with her sister, a Hufflepuff … and Finnigan."

"How do you get _him_?" Draco wondered.

"Please. Who else would pair Gryffindor colours with kelly green?"

"Oh. Right. But what about that last one?"

The remaining stall, tucked against the far side of Draco's, was done up in a pale wood neither of them recognized, the striped canvas changed into a large, brown and white gingham pattern. An image of a bright scarlet feather had been applied to random white squares and the words 'The Bread Basket' stood in plain block letters on the front flap.

"No idea, although …" Blaise's eyes widened as he took a closer look. "Don't quote me on this, but … are those meant to be … phoenix feathers? Because if they are ..." he ran one hand down the front pole, "… could this be … holly?"

The two friends stared at each other. Draco had blanched.

"You know what it means if I'm right, don't you?" Blaise whispered.

Draco gulped. "Potter?"

Blaise nodded. "Potter."

"Good morning," a cheerful voice said behind them. Both whirled around, seeing the man in question, for once not wearing his trademark glasses, standing just a few feet away, hands casually tucked into his pockets. "Here to set up shop?"

Draco controlled his first reaction, giddy pleasure, with some difficulty. The prospect of spending the next three days near Potter was ... disturbing, but not unwelcome. Not that he'd ever admit it. "No, we're here for the balmy weather and the goats," he snarked. "Seriously, Scarhead, are you daft?"

Harry just grinned and sketched a jaunty two-fingered salute at Draco that had Blaise sniggering into his collar. "Love you, too, Ferret."

Ignoring the gesture, Draco's breath caught at the offhand remark, but it went thankfully unnoticed as other people started to Apparate in. Blaise, damn him, had been spot-on about their identities, too. Polite greetings were exchanged and soon the space in front of the Hog's Head became a hive of activity as everyone started to stock and organise their stalls.

Harry took care of his last preparations with a few flicks, swishes and twirls of his wand. "Any time you're ready, Kreacher," he then called.

With a sharp _crack!_ , a wizened house-elf appeared, hovering nearly a dozen large baskets that were filled high with loaves of all colours and sizes. Almost immediately, the air was redolent with the enticing yeasty smell of freshly-baked bread. "Everything is being ready, Master Harry," he croaked in a bullfrog voice.

"Good job, Kreacher, thanks." The elf preened.

"Merlin, Potter," Blaise moaned, then swallowed noisily. "You're making me drool. Not nice!"

Draco, too, felt his mouth water and he had to fight the urge to rummage through his jars, choosing the most decadent preserves to put onto slices of this and that. That soft-looking white bread seemed tailor-made for his cherry-cassis jam, or maybe the vineyard peach-white currant jelly. There was a dark country loaf he could picture slathered with golden dandelion-lemon curd. The rosehip jam would go with nearly everything, but he really wanted to get his hands on what looked like crusty granary bread topped with chopped nuts to pair it with his pumpkin-apple-orange-and-ginger spread.

Harry, already busy arranging his baskets and stacking loaves on the shelves along with his elf, looked over his shoulder. "I'm sorry?"

"No, you're not. You probably knew I haven't had a proper breakfast yet and are doing this on purpose!"

Harry laughed at Blaise's put-upon expression. "Actually I didn't, but tell you what – if you can wait a bit until I'm organised, I'll give you the heel of the first loaf I'm cutting. You can even pick which one," he offered. Then he looked over at Draco, who had started to unpack his own crates with Bramble's help. "Maybe if you ask him nicely, Malfoy will even give you one of his jams to go with it."

"Or you can try one of my cheeses," Finnigan called over. "My Gubbeen is perfect with Harry's spiced rye and sourdough bread!" He grinned. "And I wouldn't say no to a piece of that sorghum loaf with some red jam, either!"

"If we're making wish lists, would you mind sharing some of that German wholegrain brown bread for my Black Forest-style cured ham?" Justin asked politely. "I was going to cut it up anyway and can spare a few slices."

"Why don't we have a taste all around?" Padma suggested. "Everything looks so good, I wouldn't mind sharing."

"Yes – and there's our _masala chai_ to wash it down with," Parvati added, lighting Bluebell Flames under the cauldrons. "Mind, we only have very small tasting cups as we don't have a concession to sell beverages, but …"

"I'll make you some proper tea or coffee," a gruff voice said from behind them. The tall, kilt-clad figure of Aberforth Dumbledore shuffled forward from the Hog's Head's doorway. "Say in exchange for a sample of each of your wares?"

"That—that's very generous of you, Mr Dumbledore," Pansy replied, refusing to be intimidated by the grizzled, surly old man. "I'm sure Draco wouldn't mind—"

"Call me Abe," Aberforth grumbled, fixing her with a not-unfriendly stare from under bushy grey eyebrows. "Well, young Malfoy?"

Draco blushed under the scrutiny, hid his surprise and nodded. "Gladly, sir. A cup of coffee would be quite welcome, thank you. What kind of jam do you like?"

Abe peered at the neat labels, then shook his head. "Don't know half o' that fancy stuff," he muttered. "Something red, not too sweet," he decided at last. "You pick. Same for you, Potter – I like bread I can sink my teeth into. And a nice, sharp cheese if you have it, Finnigan."

"I'll cut you a piece of Ardrahan then, Abe," Seamus said. "It's a tad on the smelly side, granted, but it'll go well with your beer."

"And the goats," Theo muttered very quietly. Harry overheard and nearly choked on a hastily-suppressed laugh.

Blaise stepped forward, holding a bulbous, raffia-wrapped bottle of red wine. "I'd wager you're a Chianti kind of man, sir ‒ sorry, Abe." He smiled winningly. "Full-bodied, fruity, not too dry, fairly robust – perfect with a hearty meat pie or roast." He dipped his head in a polite bow, offering the bottle. "With compliments of the Zabini family vineyards."

Justin showed he had exquisite manners, as well. He had already arranged a selection of cuts from three kinds of sausage, prosciutto-style ham and cooked gammon onto a plate. "I trust you have no objection to Muggle-made sausages and cold meat, Abe?"

The old man snorted strongly enough to make his whiskers flutter. "Naw. Reckon the pigs don't care if their hocks are handled with magic or without once the butcher's done with 'em, so I don't, either."

"I so didn't need that picture in my head," Parvati said under her breath and shuddered. "Ew."

"I hear you," Millicent replied equally softly. "Not that he isn't right, though."

Aberforth took the plate of cold cuts from Justin with a nod, tucked the wine bottle under his arm and walked off, back into his inn. Theo and Millicent quickly collected the various other foodstuffs – bread, cheese, jam – and carried them into the Hog's Head while Parvati Conjured a flask to fill at their urns.

"It's only fair Abe gets to taste our _chai_ , too," she explained. "He says he'll have our drinks ready as soon as we've finished our preparations."

"Let's hop to it, then." Millicent rubbed her hands. "Who needs help with what?"

Padma and Parvati teamed up with Seamus and Justin. Harry, Draco, and Blaise gratefully accepted the remaining Slytherins' assistance, also directing their respective house-elves to chip in with any heavy lifting as needed. In no time at all, the six stalls were ready for business.

With about half an hour to go until the Fayre opened, they sat down in a circle of rough stools provided by Aberforth, sharing their various offerings.

"You know, we should really have samples of everything," Parvati mused as she daintily nibbled on a piece of crunchy nut bread topped with Kilree Gold cheese and a dollop of Draco's orange-cranberry marmalade. "I mean, might people not donate more if they knew what they were getting? Take Harry's bread, for example – what if he gave someone a loaf of that spiced granary bread and they really prefer something softer and neutral? Or Seamus' cheese; not everybody would like the Crozier Blue, I'd think." She finished her morsel. "This is sooo delicious, by the way."

"Definitely," Padma said. "I'd never have thought to combine apricot jam with dark bread instead of toast."

"The cognac makes it work," Draco murmured, chasing a bite of Wicklow Bán with some Chianti. It really was too early for alcohol ... if the flavour combination weren't so perfect. A sip or two wouldn't hurt, surely?

Theo agreed, waving his slice of country loaf piled with garlicky, pepper-coated salami. "Yes. Same for the beverages; I know you girls brought tasting cups for your _chai_ mixtures, so you're fine, but what about you, Blaise?"

"If you'll recall, Millie already made a note of that the other night." Blaise scowled. "Even though it's a travesty to drink good wine out of a thimble-sized beaker." He glared at the one in Draco's hand.

"Especially the _Spumante_ ," Pansy sighed. "But I guess it can't be helped. Do you think those little glass dishes and tiny spoons are okay for Draco's preserves?"

"They'll do fine," Draco murmured. He was still trying to parse the fact that he was sitting in the middle of a Hogsmeade alley, eating small chunks of cheese and pieces of bread with just his fingers, from a communal plate no less, while everyone was sipping coffee from chipped earthenware mugs that they had to rest on the ground. It was very, _very_ undignified. Not at all what a Malfoy should do.

Worse, he was doing it in the company of Gryffindors, a Muggle-born Hufflepuff, and the Patil twins, sharing an impromptu _al fresco_ meal sitting next to Harry bloody Potter!

 _If Father could see me now, he'd disown me. Or have a heart attack._

Draco felt a pang of guilt at being a little bit glad for once that Lucius was still serving a long sentence in Azkaban. He'd hoped for a small measure of acceptance, a chance to redeem himself in the eyes of the general public by doing his part for charity – but never in his wildest dreams had he thought to experience this kind of spontaneous camaraderie with former adversaries, people he used to look down on and ridicule. And actually _having fun_ in the process!

A pointed elbow gently nudged his side. Startled, Draco almost dropped his mug of really quite good black coffee. "What, Potter?"

The green eyes laughed at him, the stylish silver frames that had replaced the round black ones of their school days back on. "Don't you think this—" he gestured at them, the group and the area, "—is rather surreal? I know I do," he murmured. "And call me Harry."

That casual offer to use Potter's first name was somehow strangest of all.

"Surreal seems about right. It's definitely not what I thought might ever happen back in May of '98," Draco replied with more honesty than he'd intended to give. He just couldn't help himself. It was too close to his dreams, both exhilarating and kind of scary. It felt too … _too right_.

And he had no idea what to do with this feeling.

Up on the High Street, a fanfare sounded and people cheered; a quick glance at his pocket watch showed that it was exactly eleven o'clock. The seventh Hogsmeade Food Fayre was officially open. Sighing, Draco rose with the others. Time to man his stall.

Pot—no, _Harry's_ voice and the touch of a hand on his sleeve drew him back.

"I'm pretty sure none of us did," Harry said. "But I want you to know one thing – I'm glad things turned out the way they are now – today, I mean. _Very_ glad."

Draco ventured a smile. "Me, too … Harry."

Harry laughed and clapped his shoulder. "Then let's get this show on the road." He paused, then added with an enigmatic smile, "Draco."

 **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**

Nobody was particularly worried that they were having a slow start. For one thing, it was mid-morning on a work day, and for another, those already out and about needed time to take a look around and make up their minds about where to leave donations in exchange for foodstuffs. During their informal breakfast, the group had decided to set up a communal collection box, made from one of the Patil sisters' tea caddies. Draco Transfigured a log provided by Aberforth, who was watching the proceedings with great interest and gruff comments, into a sturdy, centrally placed plinth. Seamus and Theo then each applied a strong Sticking Charm on both to prevent theft.

Then the waiting began.

Hermione dropped by on her way to 'Molly's Cauldron'. When she saw that Harry was sharing his bread with Justin, Seamus and Draco, she suggested that they each prepare sample platters of everything, which necessitated another round of spellwork. More logs from Aberforth's woodpile were cut into trenchers, cleaned and smoothed. Next to show up was Luna, who decided unilaterally that the stalls lacked decoration and immediately shanghaied Millicent and Pansy to help her gather colorful autumn leaves to wind into garlands and drape over the stalls.

Parvati studied the effect. "It's pretty, but I think it still lacks something. Only what?"

"Yeah … " Justin mused. "You know … at the fairs my parents took us to in Norwich and Cambridge, vendors often had strings of fairy lights on their stalls. Now if we had electricity …"

"Whatever for? Don't we have magic instead?" Luna said in her dreamy voice. "There's a flock of fairies nesting behind the Shrieking Shack; I'm sure they could be persuaded to help out for a bowl of milk and some honey."

"Milk we have," Padma said. "No honey, though."

"We do have a handy source of just-as-sweet gourmet jams, though," Harry grinned. "How about it, Draco – are you willing to sacrifice a jar for the cause?"

Draco startled when everybody turned to look at him. "Well, I, er," he hedged uncertainly when Finnigan piped up.

"Oh, say yes, Malfoy, do. I'd chip in myself, but th' fairies won't be liking my cheeses." His blue eyes twinkled. "You know what, I'll even make the first donation." He dug a hand into his breeches pocket and withdrew a handful of coins. "Don't have much on me, but will nine Sickles and fifteen Knuts do?"

Draco bristled. "My preserves are worth more than that!"

"Sure, an' I need to keep a bit of cash to buy a Butterbeer or two later," Finnigan said merrily. "Well?"

Justin had already drawn an elegant wallet from his jacket. "I'll put up a tenner if you agree," he smiled, waving a banknote.

Pansy clamped a hand around Draco's wrist. "And how much is that in real – well, _our_ money?" she asked sweetly.

"Roughly two Galleons, two Sickles and seven Knuts, going by last week's official exchange rate," Blaise answered promptly. Everybody was giving him incredulous looks. "What? Zabini and Goldstein is a very old banking house; we do all of Gringotts' business with Muggles," he explained blithely. "I need to know these things!"

"I'll donate a Galleon, too," Theo said calmly, dropping a gold coin into the collection box. "It's a double good cause, isn't it?"

Hermione opened her purse. "I'm in. It's worth it just for Malfoy's expression," she chuckled, counting out several large, hexagonal silver coins. "I don't think I've seen you quite as flabbergasted since Harry outed himself as a Parselmouth."

"The look on his face when you punched him in third year was even better." Harry smirked, letting a handful of coins fall into the box as well.

Blaise chortled. "Oh, I don't know – I really enjoyed the way the two of you looked when Potter won the _Felix Felicis_ from old Slughorn. That was truly priceless!"

That memory still rankled, even eight years later. "Harry only won because he cheated," Hermione exclaimed indignantly.

"I so did not!" Harry retorted at once. "I just followed the instructions in the book to the letter, like Slughorn _told us to do_ , and you bloody well know it!"

"You followed Professor Snape's annotations, you mean!"

She was given bland stares from all five Slytherins as well as Padma.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nobody else had access to those notes! How is that _not_ wrong, or cheating?" Hermione sputtered.

Millicent looked at her as if she were dim. "Because we all received the information from him once we'd demonstrated that we could brew our potions from the standard recipes?"

Hermione's eyes bulged. _"WHAT?!"_

Padma shrugged. "Hermione, Professor Snape always gave more detailed instructions to members of his House in N.E.W.T. year if they maintained at least an Exceeds Expectations overall."

"And how would _you_ know that?" Hermione asked with pinched lips. "You were in Ravenclaw!"

"We usually traded tutoring to whoever needed it in exchange for additional information, no matter the subject or House," Luna explained, her protuberant eyes wide and guileless. "Didn't you?"

Hermione gaped. "I—you—no, we— Gryffindors didn't—" She threw up her hands. "Aaaargh!"

Blaise draped an arm around her shoulders. "There, there," he soothed. "It's all water under the bridge because you did brilliantly in eighth year even without extra notes." He gently patted her back. "Calm down and have a cup of tea; it's not worth worrying your pretty head over."

Harry and Seamus winced, waiting for Hermione to explode. Such comments never sat well with her. At all.

However, to their astonishment she just blinked at the suave smile Zabini bestowed on her as she let him lead her aside and press a mug into her hand. "Why don't you tell me more about our dear Potter's antics at school? I have a feeling I may have missed half of what you Gryffindors got up to, and I'm simply dying to know!" He sent a cheeky grin over his shoulder at the rest of the group. "Oh, and I'll match the total of what we collect for a jar of Draco's fairy jam if it's worth my while."

"Fine," Draco exclaimed, thoroughly fed up with everybody's antics, and snatched up a jar of pear-and-lavender preserve, spooning out half of the golden-yellow puree into a shallow glass dish. "There. Satisfied now?"

Luna bent over to inhale the sweet, fruity scent. "Oh, this'll do more than nicely," she said. "If you can reserve a jar for me, I'll take one home for Daddy tonight. He'll love it." Her pleased smile was infectious. "And so will the fairies."

"I suppose I can do that," he said, mollified by her praise.

"Thank you, Draco. I'll be back with them in a jiffy," she promised and skipped off.

Shortly before lunchtime, a little girl with a riot of strawberry-blond curls dashed into the alley. "Mummy, look! More stalls!" A harried witch followed. "What do you have?" the maybe five-year-old child curiously asked the first person she saw.

"Fine Irish cheese, pretty girl," Seamus replied, grinning when her eager expression shifted into a frown.

"Don't like cheese," the girl pouted. "It stinks!"

"Mirabelle!" The woman groaned, embarrassed. "That's not a nice thing to say!"

"She's not all wrong, Madam," Seamus laughed. "Maybe your daughter would like to try my friends' _chai_? That's a sweet, milky tea with spices and vanilla," he explained. "Or a nice jammy sandwich?"

Little Mirabelle was not convinced. "Jam sandwiches are boring," she declared.

"Ah, but you haven't tried ours yet," Harry said, swiftly cutting a slice of buttermilk bread, made extra soft and moist by baking in chopped, hard-boiled eggs. Draco handed him an already-opened jar of deep yellow jam. Within moments, he'd slathered it on and cut the sandwich into crust-less squares.

The curly-haired child looked tempted, but still dubious. "What jam is it?"

Draco had learned to be charming from the very best ‒ his mother. "One I chose especially for you," he said conspiratorily. "I've made it from sweet oranges and mirabelles."

"That's my name!" Mirabelle cried, performing an excited little hop.

"Yes ‒ and it's also a sweet yellow plum that grows in the province of Lorraine, France. Did you know that the people living in the city of Metz hold a festival in the fruit's honour every summer and crown a Mirabelle Queen?"

"No," the girl breathed, enchanted.

"Want to try it, then?"

"Yes!"

The girl's mother sighed at her daughter's lack of manners. "Say please, Mira," she admonished.

"Please, mister?" Mirabelle repeated obediently and squealed when she saw the smiley face Parvati had drizzled on the top slice of bread. "Ooh, pretty!"

"Enjoy," Harry said and handed over the small trencher.

Mirabelle bit into the small sandwich with gusto. After the first swallow, she beamed at her mother. "I _like_ it, Mummy! A lot!"

The young woman smiled indulgently. At least here she'd found something nutritious her whole family would enjoy. "Well, we'd better take a jar then, shall we?"

Mirabelle nodded so hard, her curls bounced. "And the yummy bread, too!"

"Oh, all right."

Draco set a jar of the preserve on his stall's counter while Harry wrapped up a fresh loaf. The woman tucked both into her bag and looked around. "Maybe I should take something savoury, too," she said hesitantly. "But a whole ham would be far too much …"

"Not a problem, Madam," Justin said promptly. "I'll be happy to cut some up for you. Maybe a quarter pound? That's about a dozen slices," he added helpfully.

"That'd be wonderful, thank you." She let her eyes drift towards Seamus's stall. "Mirabelle might not like cheese very much, but I know her Nanna does," she murmured. "If you have something mild and creamy?"

"Sure ‒ the Collea Farmhouse should suit," Seamus replied, cutting off a generous wedge from a round loaf. "Will this do?"

"Perfectly."

Justin wrapped the sliced ham on a piece of cardboard. "If I may be so bold, Madam, I'd recommend taking one of the wholegrain breads, too. They'll go equally well with either the ham or cheese," he suggested as he handed her the package.

"That sounds good. And I'll also take a tin of that tea. That almond-flavoured one is delicious."

Padma beamed. "It's our own blend, a Kashmiri recipe based on green tea instead of black," she explained. "Just boil one part water with two to four parts of whole milk to make it, then sweeten to taste with whatever you fancy."

"Thank you." Hazel eyes turned towards Blaise. "Sorry about not taking one of your wines," she said, "but my husband has a health condition that won't allow him to mix alcohol with the potions he's on, so …"

"Don't worry, Madam, it's quite all right," Blaise replied. "But if you'd be so kind to spread the word that here one can find some of the finest wines to come out of Tuscany? Maybe tell a friend or two?" He gave her a flirtatious wink, making her blush and titter.

"I'll do that. Thank you, everyone!" There was a glint of silver and gold between her fingers as several coins clattered into the collection box.

"Thank _you_ for donating, Madam," everyone chorused. Little Mirabelle waved good-bye.

"That went remarkably well," Parvati commented as they watched mother and daughter walk away until they'd turned the corner back onto the High Street.

"You worked well as a team, too," Hermione remarked approvingly. "I don't think you could've done any better if you'd rehearsed."

"And even without using the Potter Effect." Seamus grinned.

"The what?" Blaise asked.

"You know ‒ Harry's fame. Usually, people fall all over themselves as soon as they see him. Haven't you noticed that that lady didn't swarm all over him or gush even once? She acted so normal, it was uncanny!"

"Thanks a lot for the reminder, Shay," Harry said dryly. "I'll be quite happy if half the punters this weekend are going to behave a fraction as well."

"As our bank's esteemed Senior Partner Yonatan Goldstein would say, you should be so lucky," Blaise muttered.

"I can hope, can't I?"

"Perhaps we just ought to continue in this vein," Draco interrupted. Given their success, it seemed eminently logical that they should, but at the same time a part of him was simply horrified ‒ friendly collaboration was neither a very Slytherin, nor quite a Malfoy thing to do.

"Yeah ‒ as they say across the pond, 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it'," Justin agreed, his misguided attempt at an American drawl clashing horribly with his habitual upper-class accent.

Parvati slapped his shoulder. "Ugh, don't ever do that again!"

Justin scowled at her. "Firstly, ow!, and secondly, do what not again?"

"Speak like a bloody Colonial," Millicent informed him. "A, you can't, and b, it sounds horrible when you try."

"Oh. That." He shrugged. "Okay."

She gave him a suspicious stare, which he returned with an angelic smile.

"Watch it, Double-F," Millie growled at last. "Cheek me again and you'll find that I can hit much harder than her." She jerked her thumb at Parvati.

"Of that, I am in no doubt whatsoever, Miss Bulstrode." Justin bowed, then yelped and jumped behind Harry to hide when Millie fake-lunged at him. "Help!"

Harry shoved him mercilessly back, grinning from ear to ear. "Sorry, mate, you're on your own."

"Hah!" Millie crowed, stalking closer. "Fear the wrath of a Slytherin, Badger!"

Seamus was clinging to Padma, shaking with laughter. "Go get him, Bulstrode!"

Theo rolled his eyes and heaved an enormous sigh. "I am surrounded by a bunch of overgrown juvenile idiots," he lamented. "Draco, Blaise, how in Merlin's name did you manage to persuade me to help you with this madness?" He pointed an accusing finger at Hermione, who was giggling madly. "You're laughing, too, Granger? And here I thought you'd be another voice of reason!"

"Sorry, Nott." Her inflexion gave the short phrase a cheeky double meaning, making Harry cackle. Hermione didn't often indulge in that kind of wordplay, but he loved it when she did. She winked at him. "And seeing that I've already disappointed you, I'm going to take my leave now. After all, I promised to help Mrs Weasley … which unfortunately won't be nearly as much fun as hanging out here with you." She put on a deliberately posh air. "Ta-ta, darlings - and Parvati, please remember to hold a traditional Assam _karha_ for me?"

"Will do. See you later?"

"Count on it. I'll be back!" Hermione waved and trotted off at a fast clip.

Draco shook his head in bemusement. It seemed as if all around him the world had gone mad ‒ and he had never even noticed. Participating in the Hogsmeade Food Fayre was supposed to show the general public that the Malfoy scion stood ready to reclaim his place in society with grace and dignity. Instead, he'd got stuck with this ragtag band of … well, not misfits, but … whatever, working together, sharing food and stories and _banter_. They were only a few hours into the first day of three and in all honesty, Draco couldn't see that the rest of the weekend was going to be any different.

"It's not going to change," Harry said quietly from behind him. "In fact, I think it's going to get even worse come Sunday."

If Draco didn't know that Legilimency needed eye contact, he would have sworn Harry was reading his mind.

"I know." He sighed mournfully.

"Terrible, isn't it?"

"Absolutely horrific."

"So … the best time ever, huh?" Harry briefly gripped Draco's shoulder.

Draco covered the strong, warm fingers with his own and half turned to look at Harry. "Yes."

Their eyes locked.

Draco was the first to blink and didn't mind at all. "Scared, Potter?" he asked with a smile.

Harry chuckled and released his grip. "You wish, Malfoy."

Then they both stepped back and went to their respective stalls without a backwards glance.

Unnoticed, Pansy and Blaise had watched their exchange. "Well, well, well," Blaise drawled. "Will you look at that."

"I am," Pansy replied, making a moue with her red-painted lips even as her eyes were dancing wickedly. "They're eye-fucking again. Isn't it just darling."

"Even worse than at school," he sighed. "At least back then they were too bloody young to realise what they were doing, but what's their excuse now?"

"I don't know if I can stand all that pining again," she grumbled. "If Draco weren't my best friend, I'd call it positively sickening."

Blaise smirked. "What are you willing to bet that Draco's jam and Potter's bread will be the new hot thing by Halloween at the latest?"

"Oh, please," Pansy scoffed. "I don't bet against dead certainties." She sniggered. "However, I _will_ wager twenty Galleons that we're going to see at least the beginnings of some serious, ahem, sandwich-making by Saturday night."

Blaise laughed, appreciative of her sly wit. "Is that what we're calling it these days? Holy euphemisms, girl. You're on!"

 **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**

It was as if Mirabelle and her mother had put up a signpost to their alley. Suddenly, more and more people came, looked, tasted and left with parcels tucked into pockets and bags, leaving an amount of coins that buoyed everyone's spirits.

Well, that was not quite a flood, but definitely more than just a trickle," Parvati said with satisfaction as she refilled one of her cauldrons with fresh water and milk. "Let's hope we'll have more visitors like Hamish Macmillan tomorrow." Ernie's uncle had left with a satchel filled with two loaves of country bread, a whole wheel of Cais Dubh cheese, half a salami, a pound of pancetta ham and a bottle each of red, white and sparkling wine. There had been a definite glint of gold as the man made his donation, to everyone's delight.

"Yeah, can't complain," Harry said, scribbling down a few notes about what to bring tomorrow. Not unexpectedly, some types of bread had proved more popular than others; as the loaves had limited use-by times even under Preservation Charms, he preferred not having to throw too many onto the compost heap. Or feed to Aberforth's goats.

Harry also planned to bake some baguettes; they made great canapé-sized slices for taste samples. Plus, he wanted to look up a recipe for _focaccia al rosmarino_ , an Italian flatbread variety from Tuscany Blaise had waxed nostalgic about.

"You're all doing very well," Luna sing-songed while she coaxed her fairies to settle in the leafy garlands. The tiny creatures had gorged themselves on Draco's pear-and-lavender jam and were quite content now to sleep off their postprandial stupor. "There you go," she cooed as the last one curled around a mottled orange horse chestnut leaf. "Sleep well, pretties, and don't forget to sparkle." The fairies agreed with some high-pitched chitter. As one after the other drifted off, the light emanating from their skin and wings dimmed to a muted glow which reminded Draco of the enormous Christmas tree his mother used to put up in the Manor's foyer each year. Here, the effect was far less glamourous but lent a warm and welcoming air to their little enclave in the falling darkness, making sure that they remained visible from the High Street.

Sighing, Draco turned back to his own inventory. He would have to cut back on the wine-based jellies and bring more vanilla-flavoured preserves; those had all but flown off the shelves. He wondered whether Harry had a bread that would complement his most exotic creation – dates and figs in puréed quince with a pinch of Bourbon vanilla. Mother wasn't overly fond of the combination, but maybe if she tried it on something other than toast …

He was distracted by Seamus bumping into their collection box as he returned from a bathroom break. There was a quite satisfying chink of coinage.

"Now that's warming my cockles, it does. Mam's not gonna believe it when she gets my owl tonight to bring more cheese from my _daideó's_ dairy," he said. "What do you think we've made so far, aside from the money on Malfoy's breakfast contribution?"

Draco grinned proudly as he recalled the total. After Blaise had matched what everyone had chipped in that morning, the amount for his blue-/black-/elderberry preserve had come to a very pleasing fourteen Galleons, eight Sickles and twelve Knuts. As Pansy had remarked, barring a hypothetical, really generous donor it was probably the most expensive jar of homemade jam ever to change hands.

"I _am_ rather curious," Parvati confessed, "what with it being our first day and all. On the other hand, I also kind of want to wait until Sunday evening and learn just the grand total."

"Yeah. It's a bit like Christmas, isn't it?" Justin said. "You know there'll be presents, you're dying to know what's in them, but you also don't want to spoil the fun of being surprised on Christmas morning when you get to unwrap them at last."

"It's Diwali for us, but yeah," Padma sighed. "The same conundrum every year."

There were nods all around.

It was Luna who, with unexpected pragmatism, suggested that someone who didn't own a stall should record each daily intake, add everything up and share the amount once the Fayre closed. "You're supposed to hand in your collected donations to the Committee each evening anyway. That way, you'll know whether the final total matches." She smiled vaguely. "You should make sure the Nargles can't steal some; they're expert thieves, after all."

"Yeah, like Nargle S and Nargle McL," Theo sneered. "Wouldn't put it past either of them just to spite you even more."

"No naming names, but better safe than sorry," Draco said at last. "Mills, will you do the honours?"

"You're aware that it'll take ages to count all the small change, right?" Millicent replied. "But fine, I'll do it. Hand me the box."

"No need to get your hands dirty," Blaise said. He unlocked the box and Conjured a large money pouch. " _Accio_ Galleons, Sickles and Knuts." He guided the stream of gold, silver and bronze coins into the pouch. Then he peered into the box. "Huh. Looks like you weren't the only person to donate Muggle money, Jeff."

"Er, it's Justin, actually," Justin said. "Or Finch-Fletchley. Fletch for short, if you must use nicknames."

Pansy blew a raspberry at him. "Your initials are J-F-F. Ergo, Jeff. Nice and easy. Get used to it." She gathered up a fistful of pounds and pence and poured them into the pouch as well. "Now what?"

Blaise grinned. "Isn't it wonderful that my day job is in banking?" He gave his wand an intricate twirl and swish, too fast to make out. _"Conte di soldi. Annota la somma e nascondila a tutti tranne Millicent."_

"That's it?" scoffed Theo. "Just say 'count the money' and some stuff about the sum and Millicent in Italian?"

"If you know the wand movement, yes – and trust me, it takes ages to learn and get right. It's a very old Lombard trick of the trade; not even the Goblins know it." Blaise handed Millie a folded scrap of parchment. "Here you go. Only you can read it."

"That's pretty cool," Harry commented.

"All old families have specialized spells in their grimoires," Draco said. "You should have one, too - check your family vault the next time you're at Gringotts." He shrugged. "I never had access to the Black ones since Mother married the head of another family, but I've read the Malfoy grimoire, obviously. It's ... interesting."

"Let me guess – a lot of it is political?" asked Pansy with a knowing smirk.

Draco nodded. "Yes, and that's all I can tell you. But if anyone should ever feel the urge to stage a coup, come see me." His grey eyes were dancing. "For a price, of course."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. "Okay, I'll pretend I didn't hear that." He scowled at Draco. "Remember _my_ day job, you twit?"

"Uh-oh," Justin muttered. "Can we say 'oops'?"

Draco gulped, recalling too late that Harry was working in Magical Law Enforcement.

"Er, right. Sorry. Forget I said anything."

"Hmph." For good measure, Harry gave him one of his best glares, but the corners of his lips twitched as if he were suppressing a smile. "Make sure to keep it that way, Malfoy," he murmured. "There are some things I can't – or won't – ignore, not even for my friends."

"Oh, are you friends now?" Luna chirped happily, defusing the momentary tension. "How nice!"

Millicent nearly scoffed at her ingenuous observation but subsided when Padma touched her arm. "Don't let that apparent naïveté fool you," Padma murmured. "Luna has one of the sharpest minds ever to Sort Ravenclaw."

"Really? She just seems so … barmy, or something." Millicent remained sceptical.

"Trust me. Luna may _sound_ quite flaky half of the time, but I know very few people who see better to the core of things. If she hadn't been held captive during most of our last year, the Carrows would've lived to regret it." A strange little glint entered Padma's dark eyes. "Or maybe they wouldn't have."

Millicent shivered despite herself. "I'll take your word for it."

"Good choice."

The fanfare sounded again to indicate the end of the Fayre's first day, so they packed up. The stalls were shut down and secured by spells until the next day, but to be on the safe side, Draco and Blaise both tasked one of their house-elves to stand watch in shifts. Harry shrank his empty baskets except one, put the rest into it and handed it over to Kreacher. He would shortly deliver them to Harry's bakers, along with the lists and prepared ingredients for tomorrow's inventory.

"See you in the morning, people," Seamus said as he wrapped his old Gryffindor scarf around his neck. "All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed!"

"If someone hexes a bushy tail on me tonight, they can book a bed at St Mungo's," Pansy muttered darkly. "Right next to Professor Lockhart. Just so you know."

"Ooh, threats?"

"Of course. She usually means them, too," Draco said helpfully.

Justin grinned. "Don't get your undoubtedly frilly, hideously expensive knickers in a twist, Parkinson. Nobody's hexing anyone, it's merely a Muggle saying that means being well-rested and ready for anything."

She whirled on him, wand already drawn. "How do you know about my knickers?"

He raised both hands in defence. "Hey, calm down! For one thing, it's another Muggle saying, and for another, I've seen what's in my sister's laundry basket. I just assumed all girls wear similar stuff."

Slowly, Pansy put her wand away again. "Oh. Guess that's okay, then," she muttered. "Stupid sayings. Muggles are weird."

"No more so than witches or wizards," Harry said.

"Pffft."

"And there's the Pure-blood princess we used to love to hate," he laughed. "Good night, everyone!" He turned on the spot and Disapparated.

"You heard the man," Blaise said. "Coming, Draco?"

"Right behind you."

Theo accompanied Millicent on the short walk towards the High Street, to deliver the day's donations to the Organising Committee. Padma and Parvati made use of Aberforth's Floo, and the rest also Apparated home. Within a short time, their alley – and indeed the whole village – was settled for the night.

 **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**

Saturday started busy as a number of families with children too young to Side-along Apparate used the Hog's Head's Floo because it cost a bit less than the one at the Three Broomsticks and was more convenient than the busy Post Office. Which suited the group just fine – the little witches and wizards saw the bite-sized sandwiches that Parvati had once again decorated with jammy smiley faces and demanded a taste, chasing it down with a few sips of the twins' sweet, milky _chai_ before they clamoured to try a different preserve. Where the children led, the adults followed, even if their tastes ran more to the savoury meats, cheese and Blaise's wines. Everybody was kept hopping handing out samples, describing their wares and taking orders to collect when the families would return home.

Elevenses in the alley had just become A Thing and their collection box was filling up almost as rapidly as their shelves emptied.

There was a lull around noon when Fayre visitors tended to seek out hot meals elsewhere. With Pansy, Millicent, Theo and Luna – who claimed she was just there to look after the flock of fairies, but really stayed for the company – around to man the stalls for a short while, Harry took the time to visit 'Molly's Cauldron'. As he'd expected, her large stall was buzzing with people, enough that neither Ron nor Ginny had much time to question his whereabouts. Hermione gave him a quick hug between dishing out bowls of the Lancashire Hotpot and promised to drop by again later.

As he'd intended all along, Harry made a generous donation to Mrs Weasley in exchange for two large pans of Toad in the Hole. He'd timed his request just right for when she was distracted by other customers and managed to escape back to their alley without having to answer any potentially awkward questions. The Weasleys were his adoptive family, but like families everywhere some members seemed to think they had a right to argue and dictate his choices. _Well, not this time. Not on Draco._

Still, the warm, filling dish was a hit with everyone, especially once Draco brought a tray of hot Butterbeer from the inn. They barely had time to eat in peace before getting caught up once more in the afternoon rush.

Harry was busy wrapping up two loaves of five-grain bread when he was hailed by Draco. "Harry, do you have a moment?"

"Hang on." He handed over the bread and thanked the two middle-aged witches for their donation, then came over. "Okay, sorry. Customers first and all that. What's up, Draco?"

It really shouldn't be so thrilling to hear his given name fall so naturally from Harry's lips. Hiding his reaction with the ease of long practice, Draco showed him three jars, containing one bright red, one pale yellow and one rich purplish-brown jam. "These are some of my more unusual preserves," he said. "People seem to like them well enough, but were somewhat dissatisfied with the thought of pairing them with plain white toast. I was wondering whether you might have a suggestion for a better-matched bread."

"Um, yeah?" Harry murmured, not really paying attention as Luna skipped past, humming to a fairy she held in her cupped hands. It almost looked as if the tiny creature was dancing to the tune; her gossamer wings glistened as Luna carried her to the Patils.

"Merlin, give me patience." Draco rolled his eyes. "Harry. I'd like you to taste my preserves and recommend a bread to put each on," he said clearly and slowly.

Shaking himself, Harry smiled. "Sorry. I don't usually get distracted so easily, but seeing Luna and that fairy … "

"Seems like a match made in heaven to me," Draco said dryly. "What about them?"

Harry shrugged, somewhat at a loss for an explanation. He certainly wasn't going to admit that the greater part of his attention was rivetted neither on Luna and the fairy nor the pots of jam, but on the way the setting autumn sun turned Draco's pale skin and white-blond hair into shades of molten gold. " Um. They're … shiny? Sparkly?"

That garnered him an exasperated sigh. "What are you, a second-year Hufflepuff girl? Wait, don't answer that. Just have a taste and give me your opinion, will you?"

"Sure." Harry took one of the spoons Draco had provided and dipped it into the darkest jam first. "Hmm. Nice; not too sweet, a bit tart with a hint of honey and something … hot? Unusual. What is it?"

"Plums, apple, honey and red chilli, actually."

"Huh. Interesting. I'd eat it with a regular country loaf – hearty, but fairly neutral. Lets all the different flavours shine."

"Right. And this?"

Next was a red grape jelly, flavoured with rose water and champagne.

"Not bad," was Harry's verdict. " Very smooth texture; the champagne makes it tangy while the rose water adds sweetness. Although, personally I find the scent a bit overpowering."

"It's Mother's favourite," Draco said. "She usually requests it for afternoon tea parties with her friends."

"Sorry, I—"

"No, don't apologize. Nobody has to like everything, after all. I guess it _is_ more suited to a lady's taste."

"Could be," Harry said. "Okay, bread. I'd go with any good-quality, sweetish white bread like brioche, German raisin _Stuten_ , scones or hot cross buns. Not something I've brought along, but easy enough to find most places."

"Thanks." Opening the last jar containing a pale, golden puree, Draco spooned up a generous helping. "This actually has a story of sorts," he murmured hesitantly, holding the spoon just out of Harry's reach.

"Really?" The subtle aroma made Harry's mouth water.

"Yeah. See, most of my preserves are made when the fruits are in season, and I just play with different flavour combinations. But this one … I saw a few leftover treats from Yule, really quite random things, in the kitchen and simply started to experiment." He paused, then continued quietly, "Severus once told me that's how he developed some of his best potions."

Pain and regret echoed in his voice and Harry couldn't help but reach out, wrapping his fingers around Draco's hand.

"Intuition," he murmured. "The creative spark or whatever. He had so much of it … and between Voldemort and Dumbledore, he never got to explore it to its fullest potential."

"Yes. It was … regrettable," Draco replied around the sudden lump in his throat. He'd never been able to explain the way he'd felt about his teacher, his Head of House ... his mentor. That it was Harry, of all people, who understood that about Severus … it meant a lot to him. The world, really.

"More like a bloody shame," Harry said curtly. "Those two old men had a lot to answer for." However, this was neither the time nor the place to go deeper into that topic; another group of potential customers was coming down the alley from the High Street, and they had donations to collect.

"Well, let me taste your experiment, then," he said. A myriad of emotions, chagrin and regret chief among them, flashed across Draco's expression which Harry found easy to read for once. He squeezed the slender wrist. "We'll get back to this, I promise," he whispered. "Later, okay?"

Draco smiled. "Okay." He lifted the spoon to Harry's lips. "Open up, then."

Smiling back, Harry complied, letting Draco guide the spoon into his mouth. Immediately a bouquet of flavours burst across his tongue, making him close his eyes in bliss. He tasted apples, oranges, almonds, cinnamon and vanilla, evoking memories of winter evenings spent in the Gryffindor Common Room, basking in front of the fireplace and nibbling on Mrs Weasley's homemade fudge. He moaned, wanting more.

"Draco, this is totally delicious! It's like … like eating Christmas. Or winter in a jar. I love it!"

The pointy features brightened. "Really?"

"Really – and I think I know the perfect bread for it, too. Millet and buckwheat, with some plantain and other whole grains … you know what, I'll bake a loaf tonight and bring it tomorrow so you can try it yourself. Is that all right?"

"Quite," Draco replied in a slightly husky voice. "All of your whole-grain bread is excellent; I'm looking forward to it."

Harry's face lit up with a delighted smile. He didn't care one whit. "It's a deal, then."

And then the moment was lost when Pansy poked Draco's side because someone wanted a sample set of strawberry preserves and Hermione called Harry back to his stall to advise a family of four who couldn't agree on whether to get white or brown bread. With a shrug and a smile, both men returned to their respective businesses.

 **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**

The next morning, Pansy and Hermione happened to be the first to arrive. While Hermione wasn't exactly part of the group, she interacted with everyone easily enough – and made it obvious that she supported Harry's choice to stay with them one hundred percent. She also had proved on Friday that despite her bookish ways, she had a wicked sense of humour that Pansy wished she'd known about at Hogwarts.

Pansy therefore had no compunction to start gossiping about an observation she'd made the day before. After all, in her experience there was no faster way of getting to know someone better.

"Say … you didn't happen to watch Draco and Harry yesterday afternoon, did you?" Pansy started after their initial, still somewhat stilted greetings were out of the way.

Hermione chuckled. "Oh, you mean when he let Harry taste his jams?" She waggled her eyebrows as she made air quotes around her words.

"It sounds positively filthy when you say it like that." Pansy smirked. "I like it. And yes, that's exactly what I was thinking of."

Hermione managed to look both prim and gleeful at the same time. "I prefer to call it a metaphor," she replied loftily, then spoiled the effect with her next remark. "And long overdue, if you want my opinion."

 _Oh, good!_ Pansy mentally congratulated herself on having judged the other girl correctly.

"At least Blaise and I aren't the only ones who've noticed that thing they're having between them, then," Pansy said.

"No – although it was Luna who pointed it out to me," Hermione agreed while they companionably started to ready the stalls. "I really should've seen it myself, what with Harry's obsessive stalking of Malfoy in sixth year, but …"

"It's okay; you were kind of busy planning to defeat the Noseless Twat. I'll give you a pass on that."

"Much obliged," Hermione snarked.

"Don't mention it." Pansy grinned. "Seriously, _don't._. I'll lose all of my former not-quite-minion-of-evil credibility if that gets around."

"Your secret's safe with me," Hermione promised, laughter in her eyes. She snapped her mouth shut, though, when Justin chose that moment to Apparate in, his arms laden with sausages and hams. He'd also roped Susan Bones into helping.

Soon, the alley was teeming as a dozen people did what had to be done to open for business. Aberforth's goats had got loose from their pen again and were getting in everyone's way. Harry offered the heels of some of yesterday's loaves as bait so that Theo and Millie eventually managed to lure them back. As a thank you, Abe told them that he'd treat them to hot drinks all day and was enthusiastically cheered by everyone.

"We still have so much to do," Padma fretted while she measured milk and water into her last cauldron and Conjured the blue flames.

"It's half ten; you lot can take a five-minute break afore the locusts arrive," the old man said gruffly as he passed out the first round of steaming drinks. "Last day of the Fayre is always bedlam; won't be much time after that today, I reckon."

"Oh, okay then."

Thankful for the brief respite in the still chilly air, they huddled between Draco and Blaise's stalls to stay out of the wind. Because they had been the first to set up, they stood in the most sheltered spot.

By unspoken agreement, Hermione and Pansy drifted towards the edge of the group. "So, Harry and Malfoy?" Hermione murmured, watching the two men unobtrusively.

"Oh, definitely," Pansy said, sipping her coffee while doing the same. They were annoyingly discreet, but she still saw a lot of very eloquent looks going back and forth when they weren't obscured from view by milling customers. "Is that going to be a problem for you?"

"Not anymore," Hermione replied candidly. "It might have been a few years ago and I'm not sure how Ron will take it at first, but Harry hasn't been truly happy since he and Ginny split up. If Malfoy can give him that, I'm all for it."

"Ditto. Now we can only hope and wait if and when those two idiots get their shit together. I'm not sure how much longer I can stand all that pining."

"Not to mention all those speaking looks, the longing sighs, the wistful smiles …" Blaise said from behind him. He quirked a wry grin when both girls jumped at his sneak approach. "Assuming the idiots you're talking about are Draco and Potter."

"Merlin, I'd hex myself if it were someone else," Pansy groaned. "Those two are more than enough!"

"No, it's them all right. I just wish there was something I could do to help, but Harry would go spare if I meddled," Hermione murmured.

"I don't think your assistance is needed, ladies," Blaise smirked.

He winced when Hermione grabbed his arm. "Why? What have you seen?"

He barely had time to set down his mug before Pansy clamped onto his other arm. "Yeah, spill it, BeeZee – or else!"

"Uh-oh, not the 'or else'!" He laughed. Making sure that they couldn't be overheard, he drew them close. "You know that Potter personally promised to bake a special bread for Draco's Winter Apple preserve last night?"

Both girls nodded. "Yes, so? What about it?"

"Well, apparently he did and the first thing he did just now was to cut a slice and slather it with the jam. Draco was watching him with the same look Professor Snape used to reserve for Longbottom in potions class."

"Good grief, I remember that one," Hermione said. "So intense it was scary. Small wonder poor Neville regularly botched the brewing."

"Never mind that, what about Draco and Potter?" Pansy asked impatiently.

"Getting to that," Blaise said. "Believe it or not, Potter then cut the slice into bite-sized morsels … and Draco nibbled them up directly from his hand. Piece by piece, until the whole slice was gone." He frowned. "No, wait – Draco gave the last bite to Potter. And afterwards, Potter wiped a smear of jam from Draco's mouth with his thumb and licked it off."

There was a moment of stunned silence as the three traded glances – Blaise's triumphant, Hermione's intrigued and Pansy's stunned. She was the first to find her voice again.

"That's so disgustingly cute, I think I'm going to puke," she said.

"Kind of hot, though," Hermione blurted before she could censor herself.

"You have _no_ idea," Blaise muttered. "Made me want to jump both of them and lick jam off their—"

"Too much information, Blaise!"

"Merlin, yes!" Hermione blushed hotly. Ever fair-minded, though, she soldiered on. "Still, it can't have been worse than Malfoy feeding spoonsful of jam to Harry yesterday."

"Want to bet?"

"No." She grumbled. "Wish I could've seen it myself, though."

Blaise cackled.

"Oh, shut up!" Then Pansy shrugged fatalistically. "Tough luck for you and me this time, Granger. But maybe we'll get lucky and catch them kissing."

"I wouldn't count on it. Harry's notoriously paranoid about his affairs and what he lets become public."

"And Draco will deny everything until he's blue in the face. As usual," Blaise sighed.

Pansy waved off their comments. "As long as there is going to be an affair, I'll be happy."

"For them, or for you?"

She smirked at Blaise. "Either. Both. Does it matter?"

"Not really, no."

"Blaise, Pansy? Granger? Harry and I could use some help here," Draco hollered from his crowded stall, breaking up the little cabal.

The three looked at each other and broke into laughter. "Talk about being à propos," Blaise snickered. "Too bad we can't tell them."

"Not if you don't want to find yourself at the wrong end of Harry's wand," Hermione cautioned, collecting their mugs to return to the Hog's Head Inn. "Come on – work first, gossip later."

"Right behind you, Granger!"

Harry watched his best friend with a puzzled frown. "Hermione seems to get along quite well with Parkinson and Zabini," he said to Draco as he handed Draco another basket of freshly-sliced bread.

"Would you prefer they were still hexing each other?" Draco replied, putting two opened jars of jam onto a tray already bearing a plate of cold cuts and cheese bites.

"No, but …"

"Don't worry, Harry." Draco winked and touched the back of Harry's hand in a quick, surreptitious caress. "They don't have a clue. How could they?"

Harry smiled back. Best friends or not, if it were up to him nobody would learn for a long time that Draco had gone with him to Grimmauld Place last night to help him bake. Or that they had spent the night in front of the fireplace in the library, talking and tracing their common ancestry on the Black family tree.

There might also have been some kissing. Unless he'd dreamed that part. Because if he had, Harry never wanted to wake up again.

 **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**

 ** _Nearly Three Years Later …_**

"Good morning. It's ten o'clock on May 2, 2008 and you're listening to – or, if you're already the lucky owner of a Wizardvision set, watching – _The Witching Hour_. I'm your host Glenda Chittock, and reporting to you live from Hogsmeade."

Glenda pasted on a smile, hoping it looked good on camera. She still wasn't really used to Wizardvision; on the Wireless, nobody cared what you looked like. Then she carefully recast the modified _Sonorus_ so that the recording microphone clipped to her robes would catch every word.

"As you know, today we are commemorating the tenth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts; Programming Director Lee Jordan himself will be broadcasting live from Hogwarts this afternoon at three." She drew a careful breath. "Now, however, we are here for the grand opening of a brand-new business, an event that hasn't been seen since before Albus Dumbledore's defeat of Gellert Grindelwald. Gentlebeings, let me present to you 'The Best of Food'!"

The camera, directed by the wand of Dennis Creevey, panned past her shoulder on the handsome building, done in dove gray and golds, standing close to the Hog's Head Inn. A nice, sizeable crowd was already waiting, held back by a wide satin ribbon strung across the glass door.

"In a moment, we'll be talking to the store's manageress, Mrs Arabella Figg, who just happens to be a childhood friend of Mr Potter. You may know her as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but what you may _not_ know is that Mrs Figg is magically limited – what we used to call a Squib. However, as new breakthrough research led by Mrs Weasley-Granger found out, she – and other citizens like her – are just differently gifted." Glenda approached the elderly woman. "Mrs Figg – Arabella – a word, please?"

"Certainly, dearie." Arabella bustled over, looking quite dignified in a pink blouse, pearl-grey coat and skirt. "What can I do for you?"

"First off, congratulations on your job."

"Thank you."

"Why don't you tell our audience about the store, how it came into being and your role in everything?"

Arabella beamed. "Love to." She primped her hair, inhaled deeply and launched into what was clearly a well-rehearsed speech.

"As you might have heard, it all started at the Food Fayre three years ago," she began. "Harry – Mr Potter, I mean, I've known him since he was knee-high to a duck, don't always remember to address him proper – decided to donate his wonderful bread creations – artisan, I should call them – for all the good causes the Fayre supports. And as the High Street was overcrowded, he set up his stall right here, in this alley, together with some friends." Someone handed Mrs Figg a cup of tea, and she sipped gratefully. "Thanks, dearie. Where was I?"

"Mr Potter setting up a stall here," Glenda dutifully repeated. Merlin, she hated interviewing the elderly; they always rambled on so!

"Right, yes. So Mr Draco – that's Mr Draco Malfoy, you know, Narcissa Black's son – was here, too, donating his very own brand of gourmet jams. _Mere Preserves_ they're called, but let me tell you, there's nothing 'mere' about them! Right tasty and elegant they are. Not too expensive, either. Well, most of them anyhow."

"Thank you for that information, Mrs Figg," Glenda said dryly. "But how came you to be involved?"

"Well, Harry likes baking his own bread, see, and often does, but he couldn't very well manage the amount he needed to stock a stall for three whole days, could he now? I've sometimes given him chocolate cake when he was just a wee lad and I was minding him, so he knew I could bake and asked me to help. But as I'm a Sq—um, magically limited, I called in a few friends who are like me and we baked all the loaves from the recipes and ingredients he gave us. Got paid a pretty penny, too. As any child will tell you, jam and bread go together like … like salt and vinegar, so Harry and Mr Draco started working together, natural-like."

She outlined the course of events, then puffed up with pride. "And when they decided to go into business together, Harry remembered that I'd done a good job helping him, hired my friends as staff and made me the manageress. That's it."

"Interesting. But what if—"

"Mr Gregory, a friend of Mr Draco's, helps out when we need a wand," Mrs Figg said a bit stiffly, forestalling the ubiquitous question. _Really, must everyone be so unoriginal?_ she wondered.

"Very informative. Thank you very much, Mrs Figg." "Actually, thank _you_ , Glenda, and do come over often from your office; we have a very nice lunchtime special!"

"I'll remember that." _Not in this lifetime if I have to deal with you, you old chatterbox!_ "Our camera will now take a quick tour through the store, commentary by Dennis Creevey, before we take a quick break to hear a few words from our sponsors, Ogden's Old Firewhisky and Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. This is Glenda Chittock, reporting live from Hogsmeade."

 **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**

"We are back in Hogsmeade at the grand opening of 'The Best of Food', a new store jointly owned and operated by Mr Harry Potter and – this is an exclusive, dear audience; remember, you heard it first here, live on _The Witching Hour_! – his business and _life_ partner, Mr Draco Malfoy."

Glenda almost swooned with excitement. She had thought this broadcast was going to be merely another human interest story, yet here she was, scooping Rita Skeeter herself! And live on camera, too!

"Congratulations, gentlemen – both on your store and on your relationship," she gushed. "I must confess, I'm quite impressed with the former, and somewhat crushed by the latter. Do you mind telling me how two of Wizarding Britain's most eligible bachelors – who, if rumour can be believed, used to be bitter antagonists during their time at Hogwarts – came to be together?"

Harry and Draco exchanged a glance. They really didn't want to get into this, they got enough ribbing from their friends already, but realised that the question had been inevitable. Neither were they keen to spread details about their love life around. So in typical Slytherin fashion – and some judicious help from Hermione – Draco had prepared a statement that would hopefully satisfy the curious without giving too much away.

If Harry managed not to lose his temper and stick to the script.

"Well, Madam Chittock—"

"Oh, it's Glenda, please!"

Draco sent her a look worthy of Lucius at his best … or worst, depending on how you looked at it … and Glenda quailed. "Sorry," she mumbled.

" _Madam Chittock_. Three years ago, neither Harry nor I expected or even envisioned this development. But as the Organising Committee of the 2005 Food Fayre inadvertently threw us together when relocating our stalls, we discovered that not only do our products complement each other extremely well, so do we on a personal level. The rest, as they say, is history."

"You could almost say we were thrown together by blind chance," Harry murmured, an enigmatic smile on his lips. Heroically, Draco refrained from rolling his eyes. Or slapping Harry silly; it was very much a toss-up between the two. Knowing Draco as well as he did, Harry's grin broadened.

"How wonderful," Glenda cooed. "But surely there was more to it?"

"Of course. Our efforts were very ably supported by representatives of Zabini Vigneti, Inc., Finnigan's County Meath Dairy, Patil Teas and Spices, and Ffinch Hall, Cambs. Farm Products," Draco intoned.

"We found out that all of us collaborating was a lot of fun. Even made it into the Top Three Fundraisers as a group," Harry elaborated.

"Yes, yes, very well done. How did you manage to overcome House rivalries, though?" Glenda wanted to know. "You, a Gryffindor; Mr Malfoy a Slytherin …"

"Don't forget Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, Madam Chittock," Harry admonished. "All of us had decided to leave our Hogwarts Houses behind after passing our N.E.W.T.s in 1999 – and if you want to get technical about it, even earlier during the War, when _everyone_ did their parts to defeat Voldemort. As I've always maintained, I couldn't have done it without help. My _friends'_ help. Happily, Draco became one as well since then, and eventually more. Does the exact why and how really matter?" Unexpectedly, Harry's expression shifted from affable to forbidding. "Because frankly, that is none of your business."

Somewhat taken aback, Glenda nodded. Reminding herself of the Hogwarts motto to never tickle a sleeping dragon, she switched to the charities 'The Best of Food' would support instead. Besides, she refused to sink to Rita Skeeter's level of sleazy tabloid journalism.

It took more effort than she liked for Glenda not to roll her eyes in boredom as the two proceeded to explain in detail how the idea of a proper business venture was born out of a charity event. How research had shown that Squibs did have a bit of magic after all and how they were trying to better the lot of these unfortunates by giving them jobs in the magical community. Glenda mentally wrote a note to herself about a future feature, maybe even a series of documentaries, to follow up while she listened with just one ear and asked a perfunctory question here and there. _Merlin, how idealistic can you be? Give me something juicy, boys!_

She was yanked out of her inner meanderings by the voice of Lee Jordan coming through the miniaturised Extendable Ear she wore underneath her collar. "Enough of that. Close it down."

 _Thank you, Merlin! About time, too!_

So do you expect to increase your fortunes by opening this store?" she asked. "After all, neither one of you is exactly struggling financially."

"Well, we are hardly a non-profit organisation," Draco explained. "Like any business owners, we have a certain overhead ‒ inventory, rent, salaries and the like, which we'll do our best to keep to a minimum. However, we have pledged a percentage of our profits to charity, supporting Mrs Tonks' Children's Village and the Severus Snape Scholarship Fund for Aspiring Potioneers. They mean a lot to us personally, and we are grateful for any donation."

"A wonderful sentiment and two worthy causes," Glenda said smoothly. "I'm sure the audience will take it to heart. Thank you very much, Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy." She turned and faced the camera. "This is Glenda Chittock, reporting live from Hogsmeade. We'll be right back with customer reactions to this exciting new business venture after another message from our sponsors."

 **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·**

Glenda used the commercial break to fix her makeup, freshen her robes and have a cup of tea. She could have availed herself of free sandwiches courtesy of the new store, but she hated jam and detested any kind of bread that couldn't be toasted. Not that she'd ever let on. Before she went in search of interview partners, she looked back at the two young men. They were standing in front of their store, arms casually wrapped around each other and smiling happily.

 _Hmm. If I were fifteen years younger, maybe …_ Then she shook her head. _Nah. Too much trouble; not worth it. Let someone else deal with them._ She turned and left.

Pansy sauntered up. They would meet the others at the Leaky Cauldron tonight, after the Memorial. Likely there would be lots of alcohol involved. She was quite looking forward to that part; enough drink tended to make Harry and Draco more touchy-feely, of which all the girls approved. The guys tended to gag, but who cared about _them_ , anyway?

"Overall that went about as well as I expected," she told them. "Potter, you nearly gave me a heart attack when you told Chittock your relationship was none of her business, though."

"Well, it isn't," Harry exclaimed indignantly. "We're in the public eye already simply because of who and what we are; I absolutely refuse to give them anything I don't have to!"

"Besides, I gave her the truth right at the beginning of the interview," Draco stated. "It _was_ all due to the Hogsmeade Food Fayre's Organising Committee!"

Pansy smirked. "Is that so?"

"Of course!"

"Um … remember that I chose to join you voluntarily?" Harry said.

"Mere details," Draco sniffed but drew Harry closer against his side anyway.

Harry pouted, which didn't sit well with the sappy smile he was sporting.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "So … what you're saying is that the reason you're disgustingly happy together now is because of the pathetic attempts at manipulation by a bunch of village merchants, Zacharias Smith and Cormac McLaggen?"

Draco frowned. Put like that … was his principle not to _ever_ admit he'd fancied Harry since he was old enough to know what it meant worth that kind of embarrassing concession? Or could he live with the endless teasing and 'I told you so's' from his friends if he did?

"Erm," he said. And coughed.

Harry smirked like the Slytherin he never was and patted Draco's back.

Pansy threw up her hands. "I give up. Go talk some sense into him, Potter; maybe you'll succeed where Blaise and I have failed. Or sic Lovegood on him, I don't care. Laters, boys!" She Disapparated with a loud _crack!_.

Harry smiled up at Draco. His wished he could loosen the tie that was strangling him, but he'd only have to fasten it again soon, so why bother? Letting his eyes fall to Draco's open collar, he instead began to fantasize about exploring the enticing hollow at the base of Draco's throat with his lips. And then move lower. _Much_ lower.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

Patiently, Draco repeated himself. "I asked, is there something you want to do until the ceremony starts at Hogwarts?"

Was there ever! "I want to paint your body with your finest jam and lick it off," Harry murmured throatily. "Up until I'm sick of the sweetness," he went on, letting the fantasy take a firmer hold.

Draco's breath caught. He didn't dare look into the deep emerald eyes, or he might ravish Harry right where they stood. "Do you now," he rasped.

"Oh yeah. And then I'll find myself a gorgeous, long piece of meat and eat it until the salty juices give me the energy to start all over again."

Draco felt as if he was on fire. "Merlin, Harry," he groaned.

Harry's smile was pure innocence. "What can I say? Only the best of food for you and me."

Draco looked at Harry as if he were the choicest morsel he'd like to devour.

"Fuck, yes!"

Much later, they did.

 **Finite Incantatem.**

 ** **·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·****

 **End Notes**

As mentioned at the top, here are a few translations as well as credits.

Latin spells:

 _Muto Pinus in Iuglantem_ : Change pine into walnut  
 _Expolio Lignum_ : Smooth/polish wood  
 _Muto Pigmenta Duas ad Unam. Adiungo Fimbriam Argentum_ : Change two colours into one. Add a silver fringe/border.

 _Karha_ : the tea/spice mix used to make _masala chai_

 _Daideó_ : Irish for Grandpa

 _"Conte di soldi. Annota la somma e nascondila a tutti tranne Millicent."_ : "Count the money. Write down the sum and tell no-one except Millicent." Italian translation via Google Translate

 _Vini della Toscana/Zabini Vigneti_ : Wines from Tuscany/Zabini Vineyards

 _Mere Preserves_ : a play on words using the name of Mere, a real town in Draco's native Wiltshire. Yes, he's trying to be clever.

various bread types mentioned: mostly from my own recipe collection

Jam types via Marmóndo, a German online store selling hand-made preserves

Cheese suggestions via Sarah Clayton-Lea's article on 15 Irish cheeses on Lovin-dot-ie

Hogsmeade residents' names via Pottermore and/or the Harry Potter wikia

The bits about Justin's background (East Anglian, family seat named Ffinch Hall, somewhere in Cambridgeshire), Theo Nott's name coming from Lancashire and the concept of "Zabini and Goldstein, Bankers" (yes, I know it's clichéd, but I like it. Deal) were gleaned, with permission, from the writings of GMWWemyss. Sadly, he's left the fandom and taken his Potterverse stories and essays offline.


End file.
